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Generations

"same "

I find myself in a skin that is obviously me, but sometimes feels foreign.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and see the person I wanted to be when I was in Junior High. The kid who worked behind the counter at Lou�s Records. Alternative. Attractive. Confident. Looking cool in eye makeup and thrift store digs.

Is this the same person? The one I see now and the one who looked out from a den of insecurity 15 years ago?

The one who wore turtle necks every day for a year to de-emphasize his jug ears? The one who wore foundation make-up to cover his acne�.Always living in fear that someone would notice the tan colored make-up rubbing off on the turtle neck?

Is this the same person?

The one who is known as a cocky bastard. The one who struts through a convention center with a reputation as �The flamboyant guy with excessive self esteem.�

The transformation seems almost comic.

Will the growth of the next 15 years be as dramatic?

I look now in the mirror and see evidence of years. Skin that isn�t quite as elastic. Large pores from years of picking zits. A hairline that shows signs of retreat.

I am an adult. Physically, at least. I still feel years away from grown-up responsibility. Even when I *did* have business cards and played the handshake game in conference rooms, it never felt like me.

I felt like little Johnny Styn, dressed up in his dad�s oversized suit. A Talking-Heads farce of respectability. Playing grown up. But quite obviously still a child.

�And you may ask yourself�How did I get here!?�

When I think about being a father, I have a surge of excitement�that quickly subdues. I am irresponsible. I am selfish. I don�t plan for the future. I practically need a guardian of my own�I am not fit to guard a precious life and provide for it. Not a cat, not a dog�and certainly not a baby.

�Well, perhaps I will grow into it� I think. I remember thinking that when I was 25. I wonder if I�ll think it when I�m 35. Or 40.

Is this the same person?

In elementary school I wanted to be a paleontologist. I had a quiet pride at having the most obscure grown up profession written on my construction paper contribution to the class d�cor. There were cutouts with �Actress,� �Writer,� and �Fireman.� But my �Paleontologist� scrawl stood out.

For years I tried to find a place for myself. When the dullness of digging for bones became clear, I moved on in my adulthood dreams. In college I dreamt of being a psychologist. But it was an edited dream. My TRUE dream would have been to be an artist�but the weight of the world convinced me that dreams like that were silly. Simple math could demonstrate that the number of people making a living at creative writing/painting/acting/etc were statistically zero.

Best to find a more realistic dream.

�Realistic Dream� WTF??!?!?

Now, as a child of 30 years, I find my dreams echoing my 3rd grade classmates. I want to write a book. I want to make a TV show. I want to save the world. (I don�t have a desire to be a fireman�but a stint as an astronaut sounds pretty cool.)

Is this a blessing or a curse to have a child�s dreams running through my head? It certainly causes me some stress. If I didn�t have a successful website, it probably could get me committed. But perhaps this cyclical development is a good thing. Perhaps adolescence and �adulthood� are merely phases to work through before you can embrace childhood playfulness again.

But this is grossly over-simplified and inaccurate. At least in my case.

I am buried in stress. I medicate myself against anxiety.

Fearing responsibly is not the same thing as working through it.

Maybe I�ll grow into it?

Is this the same person?

Same as it ever was.


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